


Lost Shadows

by Raynidreams



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-07
Updated: 2011-08-07
Packaged: 2017-10-22 08:21:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/236051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raynidreams/pseuds/Raynidreams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kara is lost in her cell on New Caprica.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lost Shadows

For two perfect seconds even a damaged clock will read the right time twice a day. It's comforting to know this, as in those seconds it's possible to know some measure of truth; the time and where in the day you are. Two moments in which you are not lost.

 _Lost._

I don't even have a broken clock. I have a broken mind instead. A mind which is slipping further and further into madness. Gods, it's so hard to keep sane. The silence here, it's absolute without those hands ticking by.  And I can only keep a measure by the fact that it's dark and then suddenly it's light - at least I still recognise these polar opposites.

The light it ignites and then blazes, the shadows darkening by its side... I watch as they appear, then start to creep across the room. They elongate and retract, mirroring the rise and fall of my chest with each breath.

I do this for each sunrise and then follow their regular path until sunset. Today's shadows are the darkest yet for the sun outside is the brightest I've ever seen here. Ironic really.

I realise that by using these words I become more like him. More dreamlike and less tangible. Vague and less real.

To be me is to frak with all my body, fly with all my being, to drink with gusto, and to sweat from the fight.

To be what he envisions is to be blinded with devotion, soar with the spirit, to thirst for the unknown, and to bleed from the soul.

To ebb and flow amid the river. Sway, interwoven with the pattern. To dive into the ocean of shade.

 _Bastard_  – yes, that is more like me.  _Frakkin' bastard_. I don't belong here and you know it, you crazy son of a bitch!

Silence. Overwhelming silence for there is no one here to answer my yell. No one here to talk to for all the hours he is gone.

Day or night. I never know when he is going to go or return. Like the tide, he trickles in imperceptibly until I am surrounded by him and standing in a deluge of his thoughts and secretive looks.

I think back and know once more that these words, these phrases, are more like him and less like me.

Me!

I want to be me!

The shadows are long now next to the rays of light. Red as blood. Red as his blood. I'm in light and in shade as the square of it cuts my body in half. Half in and half out. Dipping my toe in the misty borderland between worlds… between words. The wasteland of nowhere.

And again I've lost it. I've gone somewhere else and in doing so, I realise I've cut half-moons with my nails into my palms. Red gouged out cuts set deep in to my own skin. I wonder if it is a self-defence mechanism locked deep in my mind, for pain has always been able to draw me back to myself. This is perhaps the first lesson I ever learned. One taught by my father leaving, my mother's rage and my grief over Zak. Pain is the path from nowhere to that which is real. To here. A real room and yet utterly devoid of reality.

He told me something once long ago, or perhaps has yet to tell me? Whatever the case, I still remember his words:  _"To know the face of God is to know madness."_

All I know is that to be locked in here is to become insane.

Footsteps. Slight vibrations in the surreal dimness as night falls once more. Focus, I must… I have to…

Footsteps. Not mine but his.

High above, coming down. Closer, nearer… behind me so close his breath stirs my hair.

"Hello, I missed you."

So simply put. So carefully said.

I run through the same questions daily: What does he want? What does he expect?

A smile?

A caress?

To hold me under him and to offer us both the oblivion of release?

Again these are his words, not mine.

Mine would be to 'frak'.

Is that what he wants though? Does he want me to get on my knees in front of him? Or on my back, spread over his bed? Something inside tells me to do this, to give in and then get out of here. But I know for certain that it would not seal my release, only my submission.

He is still there at my back. After a moment his hands come to rest gently on my shoulders. I have to look at him. I have to… what else is there to do?

He looks hopeful.

I hate this look of his the most. I can cope with assured, amused and angry… but this is the most despicable because it makes me the criminal. The one dashing his hopes. I say it again, "bastard".

I say it to him and then ask what he wants. So he tells me:

" _I want your love. I want your rage. Your pain, your past … your fear and submission. To have you fight me and hold me. To be one of your conquests and your lover. I want you to rain everything in the ocean of your body and mind down on me… your most savage revenge… your deepest love… everything."_

I can scarcely breathe as he talks. His hands are now cupping my throat tenderly and yet terrifyingly… just as it has always been between us.

" _I want you to think about me as you sleep and in the moment you wake. I want every emotion you have to offer. I want everything you are. The thrust as you ram into a roll, the exhilaration as you fly… the pressure in your heart as your Viper pulls out of a launch tube… the burn you feel in your gut as you accept a man inside… all of it. I want to feel you … with everything you have."_

" _Frak you!"_  It is the best and only thing I can come up with.

He releases my throat and his lips quirk as he leans down to my level. His mouth is near my ear and the pressure of his words feel like an oncoming storm –  _damn it!_  And there I am, back to using his shitty metaphors again.

I think he's going to speak further, almost want him to, but once more he surprises me and leans away without another word.

He stands and glides past me disappearing into our home… no! No, not that! Never ever, please gods, let it ever be that.

Not a home. A prison. A mad-house.

Like my head. I am trapped here.

And the hysteria is back. I can't see him now, but I know he's there. This is the worst. And it's what disgusts me the most. For all the pain and all the humiliation of being trapped here… when he returns, there is a part of me that is happy that I am no longer alone.

I sit and wait, a long time.

My mind fixates his words from our first meeting about killing me ...  _"It's not the time."_

Dawn arrives then and the shadows are back. I am glad to see them for without them, there is no time and no way to mark it passing. I hate to admit it, but his presence works the same way. Without those shadows and his footsteps, there is nothing for me to cling onto to keep me from slipping.

And what's worse, is that he knows this.


End file.
